


roll with the punches

by simplyclockwork



Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [43]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Boxer!Lock, M/M, Sparring, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Boxer!Lock with John and Sherlock sparring, prompted by @bilbon-socket on tumblr
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528859
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	roll with the punches

**Author's Note:**

> Dammit, now I wanna write yet another long AU. Could become something once I'm finished my Unilock fic. Though I've said that about like 8 other ficlet prompt fills, so who knows when that'll be

Slipping the sparring helmet over his curls, Sherlock ducked into the padded ring. Across the mats, face half-hidden by his own helmet, John grinned. “You ready for me to kick your ass?” His tone was playful and cocky, feet sweeping in a quick, balanced arc.

Sherlock’s lips quirked. “Bold words for a lightweight.”

Rolling his eyes, John raised his hands. Circled to the left, legs crossing over one another in a slow prowl. “It’s not by height, you arse.”

With a grin and a shrug, Sherlock lifted his own gloves. “Could have fooled me, pipsqueak.”

John barred his teeth. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

With his eyes glittering, Sherlock shifted forward. “Big words for short-stuff.” He moved toward John, testing his response with a feint. John drifted back and left, his expression mischievous. He spread his arms, head cocked to the side.

“You gonna fight me? Or just talk me to death?”

“You asked for it.” Sherlock surged forward, tipping onto his toes, throwing a right hook. John ducked easily, rolling to the side. Hands floating in front of his chest, he shifted back, planted his weight on his feet, and swung forward with his left. Sherlock barely managed to get his shoulder up in time, taking the force into the meatier part of his arm. Despite both of them pulling their punches, keeping things light for the purpose of sparring, the impact was jarring.

“Good power,” he commented. John’s teeth flashed in a wide grin, and he danced away from Sherlock’s next swing. For a muscular man with a brawler-style of fighting, John was light on his feet. Sherlock followed his retreat, shifting low and letting fly a volley of jabs toward John’s midsection. John managed to dodge the first two, but the third and fourth landed around his ribs, and he _whoofed_ , stomach muscles clenched.

“Show-off.”

Chuckling, Sherlock danced back, keeping his hands raised. This time, John was the one to advance. Sherlock led him on, finally planting his legs and twisting, arm swinging in a graceful arc, catching John in the side. Realizing his mistake, John dodged the follow-up, bare feet scraping over the floor. Sherlock prowled after him, trying to back him toward the corner. Recognizing the technique, John darted forward. His glove shot toward Sherlock’s face, and he threw up his hands in response. At the last minute, John pulled to the side, feinting, and landed a hit in Sherlock’s unprotected stomach.

The air whooshing out of his lungs, Sherlock moved to the right, trying to avoid John’s volley of jabs. But John anticipated his movements, following and catching Sherlock in the side, the chest, and once on the helmet.

They broke apart, Sherlock leaping back. Panting, they circled one another, John low on his haunches, Sherlock pacing in slow, controlled steps. When John lunged, left arm swinging, Sherlock parried the blow, redirecting it to his hip, and caught John in the chin. Blinking, John moved back again. The grin on his face shifted, turning sharp and feral. Watching him, Sherlock’s mouth felt dry.

He truly was stunning.

Light on his feet, Sherlock stalked into John’s orbit, executing a stick and move, fists swinging, pinning John back toward the ropes. John held his stance, planting his feet enough to twist and dodge where he could, absorbing what he couldn’t avoid.

Sherlock landed a glancing blow to the side of his head, and John surged forward. Toe-to-toe, they exchanged blows, blocking and landing, moving together in an unchoreographed dance. John managed to catch him in the stomach with a softened one-two combination, and Sherlock fell back, sucking in air.

But John wasn’t letting him retreat. He stepped back into Sherlock’s face, and they clinched, John’s gloves locked around his head, Sherlock grabbing at his arm. They grappled, breathing heavy and loud, feet moving in slow, clumsy circles. Circling one another, Sherlock met John’s eyes. Saw mirth and glittering admiration and chuckled. John echoed the sound, pausing to press the foreheads of their helmets together before slipping loose, dancing back toward the corner.

Lips pulled back in a wide grin, heart thudding in his chest, Sherlock followed. They met again, exchanging blocks and blows, and John’s low laughter was a perfect melody to the beat of their feet on the mats, and the thump of their gloves.


End file.
